


A Man Like That

by ohnojustimagine



Category: All Elite Wrestling
Genre: Anal Sex, Collars, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26703928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnojustimagine/pseuds/ohnojustimagine
Summary: Brodie's still worked up after Cody's sudden appearance at last week's Dynamite.
Relationships: Brodie Lee/Original Female Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	A Man Like That

Brodie's still ranting by the time you get him alone backstage, closing the door of the Dark Order's locker room behind you, no one else daring to follow you in. He throws the dog collars down onto a table, the chain that connects them clattering violently as it lands, and then he paces up and down the short length of the room, his anger so fierce it seems to fill the space around you, words bouncing off the walls, spat out accusations of _cowardice_ and _audacity._

You stand there, quiet, watching calmly as you let him keep going for a few minutes, knowing he needs to get this out, waiting until he pauses for the merest second to inhale before you speak.

"So," you say, jumping in before he can go on, "why does Brandi get to call you Daddy?"

And Brodie stops dead, turning to stare at you, almost as if he'd forgotten you were there. He's breathing heavily, sweat still dripping down his bared chest. "Because her husband's not a real man," he growls out. "He's a coward."

You smile, taking a carefully measured step towards him, and when he doesn't react, doesn't say anything, you take another, moving closer. "But you're a real man," you say, gently placing your hands on his chest, palms resting on the broad, firm rise of his pecs. He flinches as you touch him, just slightly, looking down with narrowed eyes, but he's silent, letting you push him back into a nearby chair, seating himself, his expression impatiently expectant, but you know him well enough to understand what he needs.

You gaze back at him, unafraid, taking off your clothes, your eyes never leaving his until you're naked, sliding yourself onto his lap, sinuous and graceful, legs spread so you're astride his thighs, facing him, draping your arms over his shoulders.

"What does a real man like to be called?" you murmur, shifting forward, your mouth close to his, beard ticklish on your face as you smell sweat and damp skin. He doesn't answer, his hands on your waist, so huge they're halfway up the sides of your ribcage, fingers digging in just enough that you feel it.

"Sir?" you ask, softly, your teeth nipping sharp and quick at his bottom lip, pulling away as his mouth chases yours. "Mr. Brodie Lee," you whisper, feeling his breath hot on your lips as you kiss him, tantalizingly brief. "Exalted One," you breathe out, closing your eyes for just a second, because you _like_ that, but then you look at him, smiling. " _Daddy_ ," you say, and you see his eyes flare, darkening with something far more dangerous than anger. And his hand is on the back of your head, tangling painfully tight in your hair as he pulls you in, kissing you, _taking_ your mouth, deep and hungry and dominant.

You're breathless by the time he stops, seeing him glance suddenly over your shoulder, looking at the table, and for a second you wonder what he's doing, what's distracted him, but then he leans across, picking up the chain, the dog collars dangling off each end of it. And he doesn't need your permission, so you don't say anything, simply lifting your hair up and out of the way as he loops one collar around your neck, buckling it, not too tight, but firm enough that you feel it, the pressure of it on your throat lightly insistent as you swallow.

"Can't you wear the other end?" you ask.

"Not now," he tells you, shortly. "Not for you." He wraps the chain around his hand, once and then twice, the metallic links tight across his massive fist, and even just that, just the _sight_ of it, makes you feel weak, breathing in as he tugs on the chain, testing it, the leather of the collar digging into your skin.

You squirm a little in his lap, and ask, hopeful, "If I'm wearing a collar, does that mean I can be Daddy's little pet?"

"No," he says, shaking his head. "What you are is Daddy's little _bitch_." And you can't stop yourself from gasping at the word, the way he _says_ it, stirring something deep inside you, arousal slipping hot down through your body, your cunt suddenly aching, pulsing with need. He pulls at the chain, dragging you towards him to kiss you again, and then says, his voice low, "You want Daddy to fuck you like a little bitch?"

"Yes," you hiss out, aware of how desperate you sound, but you don't care, and Brodie pushes you off his lap, tugging roughly on the chain to lead you onto the couch, shoving you down on all fours. You shift enough that you can rest your hands on the arm of the couch, bracing yourself, waiting, feeling the cool weight of the chain snaking down your back, heavy like the promise of what's to come, anticipation rushing through you.

You look back over your shoulder, restless, watching as Brodie pulls off the tank top that's still bunched up around his middle after his match, tossing it aside and unfastening his pants, and then his hands are on your hips, roughly angling you towards him, lining himself up behind you, one knee on the couch, other foot on the floor. You exhale as he enters you, forceful, _burying_ his cock inside you, right up to the hilt, the girth of it filling you, making you moan, going even deeper, slamming into you again and again as he fucks you.

And you're just getting close when he stops, pulling out of you and standing up. You whine in protest, high and fretful, but he slaps your ass, just hard enough to be a warning. So you bite your tongue, glancing back to see him with a bottle of lube in hand, slicking up his cock and you're already whimpering softly, arching your back so your ass is higher, ready for him. You feel him get back into position behind you, the head of his cock immediately at your hole, blunt and thick. And you do this often enough that you don't need any real prep, but still, Brodie's _big_ , big enough that you have to consciously relax, breathe in. He goes in slow, letting you adjust, and it's so _good_ , so overwhelming in a way that's almost too much, but you love it.

And once he's in, he doesn't wait, starting to fuck you, no mercy now, hard and fast. He gets hold of the chain, pulling on it in time with each thrust, collar tightening around your throat, heightening the feeling, every sensation in sharp relief.

And then, without any warning, he _yanks_ on the chain, forcing you up onto your knees as you yelp in pain and surprise, trying to catch your breath as he wraps one arm around you, pulling you into him, cock still pounding into your ass. His other hand toys with the buckle on the collar, sliding up over your jaw, fingers stroking across your lips as he pushes his thumb into your mouth. You suck on it, instinctive, tongue working, hearing yourself whimper and cry. "Louder," he tells you, mouth wet on your ear, beard brushing hot and damp against your skin. "Daddy wants to hear you _moan_." He punctuates the last word with a sharp, viciously forceful thrust and so you do, you _moan_ , the sound of it almost a wail as his thumb slips out of your mouth and you'd bet Silver and the others are outside the door, all listening, and you know Brodie _knows_ that, and that he likes it.

You get your hand between your legs, pressing up on your clit, so on the edge of it that you cry out almost immediately, your body bucking up against Brodie's, held so tight you want to fight it, but he doesn't let go, not even when you slump back against him, limp and spent, aftershocks trembling through you as he still fucks you, finishing himself inside you, _using_ you, taking what's his until you have nothing more to give.

But then he's done, still for a minute before carefully pulling out of you. You wince at the feeling of it, but he sits down, lifting you into his lap, the chain of the collar pooled between you as he kisses you, slow and messy, licking at your mouth, breathing together as you both come back down.

"Did you like that?" he asks. You nod in reply and he smiles at you, indulgent. "Then say thank you."

"Thank you," you reply, and he _looks_ at you, face all at once stern. " _Daddy_ ," you add, quickly. "Thank you, Daddy."

"Good girl," Brodie murmurs, and he kisses you again.


End file.
